Waiting Game

Bud called last Saturday night after he got home from an evening at Kate's, a little rummy, a lot smug. "I thought you'd like to know that your car is in Salt Lake." I didn't sleep much that night, or the next. I expected a call any moment. All week. I kept putting two or three gallons at a time in the Cadillac, which, this time of year, devours about a gallon a day just getting me to work and back twice and maybe to the grocery store (about a mile away) once or to M's. Monte is still immobilized and the Cadillac is cranky as heck in the mornings despite being plugged in, requiring several dozen cranks before she stops moaning and turns over. Poor girl.

Anyway, the car is in Salt Lake. Actually, it's 86.4 miles away at the depot in Clearfield, but the transport company keeps promising Dave "tomorrow" each day until he's absolutely enraged. "We have a truck down." "We're short a driver." "It's supposed to snow." The Caliber actually came through town. On a train. We don't have a depot. ZOMG. There are other people in town waiting for vehicles that are keeping mine company at the rail yard.

We're traipsing off to Greeley, Colorado tonight to get my lovely cousin Angie graduated from college. Maybe it'll be here when I get back Sunday evening, and Jeff can take me to pick it up Monday. I like having things to look forward to, but this is getting ridiculous.